Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

Before that dwarven charge, Aldril, along with Legolas, held the formation of elves and men. The heavy steps of the orc army heralded a storm of death, and the ground trembled under their immense numbers.

Yet, Aldril's commanding presence ignited a spark of blazing fire within the hearts of the afflicted. His imposing figure standing before them was an inspiration. Aldril didn't waver; with his sword raised high, he sent a message that everyone understood.

"Don't give up."

That simple gesture rippled through the ranks of elves and men. Their eyes, once clouded by thoughts of defeat, now gleamed with the ferocity of warriors who would not surrender and would fight to the death.

"Prepare yourselves!" Aldril commanded. The horde of orcs was about to collide with them. His heightened instincts radiated an overwhelming pressure on the unwary orcs who dared fix their gaze on him. Many recoiled, only to be swallowed by the surging mass, likely crushed to death if their agonized cries were any indication.

And then it happened. A powerful impact made the men and elves quake. A tsunami of orcs surged forward in a wild, chaotic clash, as uncontrollable as waves crashing upon the shore. Aldril seized the moment and leapt into the air. His magnificent swordplay unfolded mid-flight as he spun 180 degrees and drew his second sword. Anglachel and Anguirel shone in all their splendor.

The sun's reflection on the blades gave them a unique radiance. That brilliance alone struck panic into the orcs foolish enough to look at them, a visceral fear and pain seemed to pierce their very beings.

Cries of agony echoed through the orc troops, a sound that some found to be a melody of death. All this was wrought by Aldril, who, despite being surrounded by the horde, moved freely like the morning wind. Wherever his figure appeared, heads and blood flew.

A deadly dance of splendor unfolded before the eyes of elves, men, and even dwarves, who loosed arrows to shield the elven host. It filled them with hope.

"Surround him!" snarled one of the orc leaders, one of Azog's many underlings. As had been said, orcs were foolish. Without leaders, they would flee; even when overwhelmed, they would run.

They were nothing like men, elves, or dwarves who fought to the last breath. No, these creatures were cowards ruled by fear. Perhaps Middle-earth might have fallen to Sauron had the first generation of orcs created by Morgoth still been alive.

"Surround me?" Aldril muttered under his breath. The quiet words chilled what little rationality the surrounding orcs possessed. His detached voice reflected the change wrought by the blood of a fused dragon.

"You're nothing but filthy parasites," he mocked, plunging Anglachel into an orc's chest. He then grabbed the creature's face, squeezing with such force that the sound of metal buckling and the orc's desperate roars signaled its suffering. With a small contraction of his grip, Aldril crushed the orc's head.

"Come on, come at me!" he shouted in utter ecstasy. For some reason, everything about him had improved, strength, agility, reflexes. His trance-like state only grew more intense the longer he fought.

This display of power and ferocity froze the orcs around him for a moment. Just gazing into those dichromatic eyes made them tremble.

An illusory figure seemed to loom behind Aldril, a majestic dragon with scales of deep purple-red. That was the breaking point for some, who turned and fled. They weren't fighting a human; this was a beast.

Those who ignored the fleeing orcs wondered why their comrades ran in terror, their faces marked with profound fear as if Sauron himself had appeared on the battlefield. Like a divine omen foretelling calamity, a thunderous battle cry erupted.

"Who gave you permission to run? Face me!"

With a tremendous burst, a group of orcs was sent flying. Even with their helmets on, the fear etched on their faces was evident. The telekinetic shockwave reappeared, clearing a portion of the orc horde and giving the elves and men a moment to breathe.

With a slash of Anguirel, two orcs were decapitated. The opening had been created. The elves defended themselves with great skill, breaking the wild charge of the orc vanguard. A few humans fell, but in such a dire situation, escaping without losses was almost impossible.

With his arms wide open, as if embracing the battlefield, Aldril gave an order that resonated in the hearts of the defenders.

"Charge!"

Filled with profound spirit, the elven phalanx charged with force, impaling the incoming orcs. The elves' agile movements allowed them to retract their spears swiftly, so with each motion, an orc was impaled. Meanwhile, the humans held their position at the rear, waiting for the right moment to support.

As the elves advanced with the fire of hope burning in their eyes, a loud sound behind them might have distracted them if not for Aldril's shout:

"Open a small space! The dwarves are coming!"

With the space opened, Aldril joyfully and energetically watched as Thorin emerged from Erebor, along with the rest of the company, riding battle goats and boars.

The scene played out almost in slow motion to Aldril's eyes, and Thorin's gaze didn't miss Aldril's. The dwarf gave him a smile before raising his sword high. His majestic presence captured the attention of the humans in the rear as well as the elven archers.

"To me! To me! Elves and men! Charge with me!"

The spirits of men and elves soared even higher. The humans gripped their weapons tightly and, along with the dwarf army that poured out like a war-bound torrent, charged forward. The open space allowed them to pass through the elven phalanx, while the orcs, distracted, couldn't recover in time.

Thorin was the first to charge, followed by all the other dwarves behind him. The men, unable to hold back any longer, leapt past the edges of the phalanx, joining the dwarves' charge. At Thorin's side was Dain Ironfoot, while Fili and Kili flanked him, cutting down orcs with natural coordination.

With a slash of his sword, Thorin felled an orc charging at him, only to look up and see the face of his savior and friend.

"You're late, Thorin," said Aldril indifferently, stepping back. It was as if the primal beast he once showed had hidden itself to avoid disturbing his allies.

"Aldril… my good friend." Thorin, still mounted on his battle goat, paused before approaching with a laugh filled with jubilation and relief. "Forgive me for earlier," he said. "I wasn't in my right mind."

"That doesn't matter anymore, Thorin. But if you want to make it up to me, add a little more gold to the contract." With a wave of his hand, Aldril dismissed Thorin's previous behavior; he knew better than anyone that it was all due to the madness of gold.

"Consider it done."

With a slash to his right, Aldril cut down a warg that leapt at them with its jaws wide open, splitting it with a single clean motion. Like Aldril, Thorin swung his sword, striking an orc in the chest. The creature roared before falling, only to be finished off by the dwarf leader.

"By the way, if you're looking for the big one, he's over there," Aldril said after pausing to focus on the fight. He pointed toward the southern mountain, where banners signaling orders were raised.

As both of them looked up toward the mountain's slope, the once-bright sky turned dark. The dark flying creatures had made their appearance.

"Damn," Aldril muttered with an ironic smile. But at the same time, a beautiful eagle song echoed across the battlefield.

"The eagles! The eagles have come!" shouted a human soldier, captivated by the majestic sight of those magnificent beasts whose feathers shone brilliantly.

The impact in the air didn't take long. The shrieks of the dark creatures echoed as many of them fell to the eagles' powerful claws.

'What a magnificent sight,' thought Aldril, as he sidestepped a battle troll's hammer. The troll's body was covered in metal plating, but it was of little use; Aldril, with great force, hurled Anguirel at the troll's face, piercing it instantly.

With a wave of his hand, Anguirel, still in the air from the force of the throw, obediently returned to Aldril's grasp.

"So… let's go for the big boss and finish this."

***

Filthy orcs! the first chapter of Feanor's fic has been published, take a look at it. 

Remember that there are advanced chapters on patreon "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"